Rolling Girl And Brown Eyes
by Miss Sunday Of The 7th Key
Summary: Rolling Girl is nothing but an abused child, lost and afraid. She continues to roll, but why? What makes her stay? What keeps her moving? Why, when there is nothing but noise in her head, does she still say, "One more time?" Based off the Vocaloid song.


When I dream, I hear piano and feel wind through my hair as I spin- the utmost freedom. I see speakers, blasting out my voice as I say whatever I want to- I see me, playing the piano, making noise come out the speakers.

I am amazing…

Then I wake up.

Then I roll again.

* * *

"Get up," my mother orders softly- she's always so soft. "It's time for school."

I'm happy she did, she usually lets me skip school when it's too painful. She and I learned a long time ago that it's better not to care.

I put on my uniform, I eat. I see my father, his smirk. He makes me read the paper, he laughs.

I can't read well, you see. I don't know why, but words… they just don't make sense. Like alphabet soup. My mother feels bad for me, I know. My father laughs.

Don't tell anyone, but that's not all. I hear voices too- they don't belong to anyone, they just live in my head. Sometimes they tell me they love me, sometimes they hurt me (make me hurt myself). Right now, though, I'm okay, I took my mother's pain pills. They make my head feel light and happy. I don't hear anything right now. I learned it's better than scratching at my skull, trying to hurt whoever owns those stupid voices. Hurt them, they hurt me, hurt them, they hurt me.

Hurt me, hurt myself.

But it's quiet.

I like it when it's quiet.

My mother gives me money when Father isn't looking. "Are you sure you want to go today?" She asks.

I don't want to say she was the one who woke me up in the first place. I think she's like me; her thoughts aren't really easy to sort out. But she's better at it.

"I'll be fine." I whisper, smiling brightly.

I'm not fine.

I'm really, really not fine.

I can't say that, I don't want to say that. My brain hurts. I want to stay home, protect her. But I have to try.

**_Failure again, failure again. Looking for ways, but lost in the haze. Living endless, rolling days.

* * *

_**

"One more time, one more time," I repeat, silently, my hand raised so I can read aloud.

I'm called!

I open my mouth, ready to read, ready to learn. It's not so hard, I can do it. I can do it!

_I'm going to roll one more time._

"…"

I can't do it.

I want to say the words, the answer to the question I'm being asked- I know it, I really do! - but it's unspoken, silent on my lips.

The meaning to this is deeper, I see. I don't know how to read at all, and I can't answer any question right. It's all jumbled, mixed.

I'm not fine.

Who is this girl, sitting in my chair? Was I always this stupid?

My head still feels airy… But I want more pills anyways. Pills make everything better.

I needed drugs, I couldn't answer any question, I couldn't read- when did this become me?

When did this girl decide to be me?

I run. The bell rings, and I run. Forget that school isn't over. I'm not going too far, anyways, so it doesn't matter. I'm not even leaving the campus.

I'm going to the roof.

It's time for me to stop rolling.

"Are you ready yet?" I hear them. Pain pills don't work for long, I know I need them. I had more in my bag. All I had to do was pop them in my mouth (like candy) and I would be happy inside again.

I don't want them anymore! I don't want to want them!

My foot hangs over the edge. I look at the ground, so far down…

I'm terrified. I swallow, I can't do it. I can't jump. I've thought about, but I'm a coward. I can't even jump off a building. I ran all the up here, I was so ready to jump!

I can't.

I laugh nervously. Maybe next time.

"Nah, not so ready yet. Future's still so far away." My usual excuse. I fall back, away from the edge. It hurts, but that's what I get for being stupid enough to purposefully fall back onto concrete. Weird how I don't bust my head open, huh?

"I'll just hold my breath… for now."

When I hold my breath, it makes me feel weightless. Like God is trying to pull me back up to Heaven. It feels almost as good as pills.

Almost.

"What are you doing up here?"

The voice is so sudden; I think it's just another pain in my head. But a rock smacks my forehead.

It's a boy. And he's real.

"Rolling." I state, without a second thought. I look up, meeting serious, brown eyes.

He looks at me funny. "You're the stupid one." He tells me. Wow, really? I had no idea. "The one that refuses to read in class- you are in my class." Really? He is? How come I never saw him? "I saw you run out today. You looked mad."

I sit up, and pull my hair absentmindedly. "I don't like reading." I tell him.

He, surprisingly, laughs. "No duh! I don't think anyone likes reading… not what they have here, anyways." He sits next to me, and takes out a soda and a candy bar from his bag. He gives me half of the chocolate, and lets me fountain the soda.

I forgot what chocolate tasted like.

I can't help but smile as he chuckles at my surprised expression. He doesn't know my name, I don't know his. He knows who I am- the stupid girl, the lonely girl.

The Rolling Girl.

But he's still here.

He's still here, even when everyone leaves, even when school is over. We just talk. I tell him that I've always wanted to play the piano, he tells me he's on the soccer team. He has more snacks- he really likes to eat. I like to eat a lot too, but I can't say because I'm a girl, and we don't eat a lot.

"Rolling Girl." He says my new name (I like this name). "Will you meet me here tomorrow?"

My smile fades. "Maybe." I tell him.

Maybe.

I'm late to get home. I've never been late before. I don't know why my mother always says, "be sure you're home on time!" What happens if I'm not?

I had fun with my friend (whatever his name was), so whatever waits for me at home is okay.

I get home, and I think nobody is here; it's so late and dark.

Somebody is there.

Father.

* * *

I have another dream this time. It's not nice. It's me, facing an endless road, with nothing but confusing colors and signals. Just when I think I'm done rolling, more color, more pain.

I had to take more pain pills. It hurt when my father hit me. I think one of my ribs is bruised.

More color, more voices.

More pills.

When I'm at school, it's getting harder and harder to focus. I keep trying though.

One more time, one more time.

I think I'm overdosing- I saw that in a video. It's when you have too much of something.

Does pain count? I have too much pain. I'm overdosing on pain? Or is it the pills? Ah, I'll just ignore it- it's probably my voices again.

I only had bandages and medical patches on my face and hands when I left my house this morning. But some kids find me swallowing more of my (mother's) painkillers. They want them. Because I'm stupid, they take them.

You can take whatever you want, as long as the person you take them from is stupid.

I try to get them back! I'm not weak! Or am I? I don't remember. Here I go again, rambling on and on and on, I don't even make sense.

They push me on my knees, and I feel the blood pour out from the burns and scratches made by concrete.

Because I'm a girl, and they're boys, they push their hips in my face, and make squealing and grunting noises. I don't understand- what are they doing? They laugh at me more, and push my face closer.

I feel dirty. So, so dirty…

I cut my lip on one of their zippers, and my bottom lip, the only that my father had already busted, pours blood again. It hurts, more than when my father hit me.

I get angry (finally angry), and I push the boy's legs. I back up into the corner, my arms over my body, to protect myself.

I just want them all to go away.

I want to go away now…

"Rolling Girl."

I feel my heart speed up.

It's him.

With my eyes covered, I hear shouting, and then hurried footsteps. Did the boys leave? Or did the one I like?

"God, what on Earth happened to you?" My boy says, kneeling by my side. "Did those guys do this to you? You want me to get the nurse?"

I finally look up. It's those serious, brown eyes. I think I'll call him Brown Eyes. Is that a good name, you think?

"No, it's okay," I begin, my mouth tasting like copper. "I'm fine."

_Are you okay? Not okay, not okay, NOT OKAY, **NOT OKAY!**_

I feel a stabbing in the back of my eyes, and I grab my skull, my nails digging into the skin. I scream in agony. Why won't they leave me alone? Why can't I think?

I need my pills.

But they took my pills.

I NEED THEM.

But they took them.

I hear them laughing at me. My eyes burn because they're widening so much. But it hurts…

"One more time, one more time…"

Everyone's laughing at me… Why am I so funny?

"HEY!"

I jump, my eyes darting up to meet Brown Eyes's. He looks frightened. Do I scare him? I scare myself, sometimes.

"I'm fine." I state again, calmly.

He shakes his head. "No." He argues. He wipes the blood from my mouth. "You're not."

I narrow my eyes, and smack his hand away. Why does he care? WHY SHOULD HE CARE? "You don't even know me."

"I know that someone hurt you. You want to see the nurse?"

Is that all he cared about? The nurse and I don't get along- she already knows she can't fix me. I'm "unfixable".

I suddenly had a thought. What worked almost as well as the pills?

Choking.

"Are you… are you really okay?"

How many times will he say that before he realizes that I'm not?

I look up at him. He's standing now, his hand outstretched, like I'll take it and suddenly become a genius. I raise my hand, like in class, and say something that makes his eyes pop open.

"I don't give a damn. Let's just…make some mistakes."

After the wide eyes go away, he just looks really sad. "You want me to choke you?" He asks. I know he saw me try to do the same thing. I know he saw them take my pills- he was probably one of the boys.

He kneels, his eyes wide and sad.

Sad, brown eyes…

"Why? Why don't you ever want help? You keep saying, 'I'm fine, I'm fine'. You're not fine! A total idiot can see that! What's wrong with you?"

What _is_ wrong with me?

"…I'm a failure. My father thinks I'm a failure, so he beat me up. My teacher thinks I'm a failure, so they don't care what I do, just as long as I don't leave school. I think I'm a failure… So I take pills to make me feel better."

He glares at me, his lips thinner and tighter. Why did that make him angry? Was it something I said?

I notice now… His sad, brown eyes are really beautiful.

"This is your chance-take it or leave it. The only real failure is giving up here now, before you even try!"

Then he grabbed my throat.

* * *

"One more time, one more time. I beg you- roll me one more time." I say, after the fifth time he loses his nerve and lets go.

We're on the roof now. School called the students back in.

It's just us.

And, unless Brown Eyes stops letting his grip go slack, there'll still be two of us.

"I can't." He repeats, his mouth turned into a frown.

"Come on," I urge. I need this. "It's not so bad. If you don't, I'll jump!"

He doesn't seem affected by that threat.

I didn't think he would be.

"Are you ready yet?" I ask, impatient.

"I…I'm ready now."

I didn't think he was.

So I stood up.

"Keep trying. Soon I'll be able to see something." I growl. "I want you to take my breath! How clearer can I get?"

"You don't have to do this! I know a doctor… H-He can get you help! I can call the police; they can take your dad to jail!"

He stuttered. I've only known him a day, yet he seemed so self-assured. He stutters?

"One more time, one more time, I am going to roll… just one more time…" I breathe. I say that, over and over…It still doesn't get old.

If he won't do it, I will.

I walk to the edge.

It's time… to finally stop rolling…

"NO!"

I scream as Brown Eyes yanks me back, and pulls me into his arms.

What is this? A hug? I try to kill myself and he hugs me?

How cliché.

But he shocks me anyways.

"One more time, one more time… I beg you, roll one more time!"

I feel water on my cheek.

Am I crying? Why?

"I'll take care of you… Just keep living."

He wants me to live? Why?

I feel the world start to spin. The wind picks up, and my hair flies about wildly.

I was craving pills when I was sitting there.

Now I'm not.

I could hear the voices snickering.

Maybe it was just for a moment… but they stopped.

_I'm… I'm doing it._

_I'm rolling._

_I… I don't think it's ever felt this good to roll._

"You're dad doesn't matter, your teachers don't matter… I'll help you. You can play the piano; I'll get someone to teach you."

My eyes widen to plates.

When did the world suddenly become so colorful?

"Are you ready yet?"

"I'm ready now."

I don't feel him smile, but its okay. I know he is, on the inside.

I'm ready.

He snorts. "You must be so sick and tired of this."

I'm not sick. Just tired…

But I don't want to stop. Not anymore.

I want him to help me.

I want to help him.

We can roll together.

Brown Eyes.

Rolling Girl.


End file.
